


【Drift Origin】Sea of Red

by ThatKup



Series: 漂移本纪 镇天威时代 [1]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alien Culture, Description of wound, I tag pharmar/ratchet, M/M, Transformers anatomy, Youngling Drift, a lot of headcanon, and young Ratchet, but i think they have a much more complicated realationship in this chapter, one-sided, the core is Dratchet anyway, this period lies far before dead end encounter, you ll decide it then.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:07:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24670537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatKup/pseuds/ThatKup
Summary: If RED is not the color of Cybertronian 'blood',  then why do all Medics wearing red and white?
Relationships: Drift | Deadlock/Ratchet, Pharma/Ratchet (Transformers)
Series: 漂移本纪 镇天威时代 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1783771
Comments: 4
Kudos: 12





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a headcanon work.  
> And this is my first time translating my Chinese fanfic into English. The word choice of sentencing is a bit challenging for me. not sure if all of those are professional and correct.  
> This chapter is only an experiment to me hhh, though. Hope you enjoy it!
> 
> The paint penalty mentioned in this work originates from the ink-penalty from ancient China, which is a sentence that tattooing the criminals face or body. And since tattoos are hard to remove, ancient Chinese uses this to mark the criminals out.
> 
> The Chinese version is in Chapter 2

Drift followed Searchlight, picked their seats in the campus bar. With the heating lamps above, atmosphere there was peaceful and warm.  
“So, how’s it.”  
Searchlight bent over his slim waist, elbow bracing his weight against the counter.  
“How’s, what?” Drift glanced around -- there was a wall of glass in front of them, and several round-shaped tables behind them, not many were taken.  
“Whatever comes to your brain.”  
“Fine -- I’m surprised.”  
“For what? That we have a bar?”  
“Dunno. Might be something else, I guess,” he confessed, “probably everything I learned today. Everything, anything. I got a name too. Drift -- a nice one.”  
A waiter brought them the low-grade ordered, Searchlight reached for the drinks, turned around, pushed one of them, which got flavored with copper grinds, to Drift. The glass bottom almost fell over hitting the seam of the table, Drift hurried to steady it.  
“Primus.” The motorcycle stared outside, optics widened. Drift followed his sight, seeing the gathering crowd on the square. Though he’d noticed the situation a few seconds before, but different from Searchlight, who had been living on this planet for something like more than ten years, Drift was unfamiliar with “abnormal”.  
“So...?”  
He raised a brow, looking at his friend.  
“Something big.” Poking at the vent-grilles on Drift’s waist, Searchlight quickly finished his low-grade in a few gulps, “bottom up and get on your pedes, hurry!”  
“Something big?”  
Searchlight slapped Drift’s back helm.  
“Dumb aft.” the motorcycle hummed, but rubbed that spot with a glimpse of guilt, Drift probably didn’t have practical knowledge of stuff like this, “there, that platform, see? It’s for discipline. You have ‘discipline’ in your nice little brain eh?”  
“I do, yes.” Drift mumbled in a lower tone.  
“On your pedes then. There will soon be crowded.”  
“Any danger?” Drift didn’t like seeing an excited Searchlight.  
“I bet no... oh lad, there! See? That way!” -- Searchlight pointing a winged blue mech, who Drift found familiar, “That’s Pharma, and First Aid! Lancet! Staples and Clamp as well! What the pit? Medics’ fair? C’mon! Move your aft already!”  
These mechs that Searchlight mentioned were wearing red, indigo, orange and irony-gray paint individually, in that sequence as well. Their face plates solemn, surrounding the discipline-platform with heavy fields. A government official reading some declaration high on that stage, whose golden chevron reflecting a shiny spot under the falling sun. Those medical units were nodding to greet the other mechs gathering.  
When Drift and Searchlight finally reached the square center, lines of mechs were there already. They stood close to each other, however far enough for them to lift their arms. Searchlight was about to sneak to the front, but a stranger blocked the two young mechs’ way.  
“Medical students, you two?”  
“Eh-- ”  
“Yes, we are.” Searchlight answered without hesitation.  
“Your tutor?”  
“Well, we were separated, got lost.”  
Drift eyed his friend with suspicion.  
“Fine then,” the stranger lifted his hand to hold his belt, “volunteered?”  
“We are not sure what exactly is happening right now. Just followed the wave.” Searchlight said.  
“Ratchet’s sentence happens,” the Stranger sighed, “if you haven’t heard about this, turn around and leave. We don’t know what this demonstration will lead to.”  
“Ratchet’s sentence? Oh primus!” Searchlight yelled in a low voice, “of course we’ve heard of that, of him -- right, Drift? Ratchet, that fame doc.”  
Drift slowly nodded, against Searchlight’s wide opened optics that filled with implication.  
“Ratchet. Oh, sure.” Drift added, “he did something bad?”  
“Disobey Senate’s direct order -- said he stole something. Yeah he sure stole their tail-gas.” the stranger ground his denta hard, “Ratchet would never steal. They made that pit up.”  
“And the sentence is -- ”  
“Empurata.” The stranger growled in his engine -- several other mechs around heard that words clenched their fists, they looked to this side, brow-plates knitting, and turned their burning gaze to the empty platform again -- the two younger mechs gasped as well.  
“But he’s a medic...” Searchlight’s throat felt dry.  
“-- they relieved it to paint penalty*,” another voice let himself into the conversation, a chill immediately ran through Drift’s back-plate, he turned to see Pharma, who was speaking.  
“It’s about to start.” The blue medic said, four bottles of spray paint in his hands, “do you willing to change the color of your own paints?”  
Drift drop his sight on Searchlight, who looked back. Pharma didn’t push it, his gaze was on something above this sea of mechs.  
“I don’t mind doing that -- ” finally, Drift said, and added something he didn’t have a clue about, “we are making Ratchet proud of us, aren’t we?”  
He took the bottles, found out there were only white and red paints.  
“We are making him feeling proud of us, nice speech, apprentice.” Pharma turned to the stranger, “on behalf of all medical units, I thank you, Ironhide, your crews and your assistance.”  
“You can count on me, fella.” Ironhide clapped on Pharma’s shoulder, “now focus.”  
The blue mech nodded and left, others made a way for him to approach to the front.  
“So you are a medic as well?” Searchlight glanced Ironhide from helm to pedes. This med was in rusty-red, frame bulky and tough, didn’t seem like a medic, less possibly a nurse too.  
“I am not. Huh. But I own him a big favor, to Ratchet. Time for me to pay that back.” His hands on hips, helm held high, “Ratchet is a good doc. I won’t stand and watch them ruin him.”  
Drift eyed at the spray bottle, handed Searchlight two of them.  
Just at the point when they figuring out how to use this spray, a noise came from the platform ahead. Sound of booing raised against the three mechs who just appeared upon the stage, the two on the right and the left sides were with goggles. The one between them were dragged, his step pace a mess, optics flickering.  
“Ratchet!” Ironhide growled.  
And the crowd roared.  
The official started to read the verdict. Drift couldn’t hear a single word. His helm raised. The moment Ratchet’s figure reflected into his sight, a sudden taste of bitter, and warm, ignited in his spark. His fingertips rest on his chest armor, right above his spark.  
Ratchet dropped kneeling as the soldier released their hands, like a stone thrown onto the floor, there wasn’t another movement from him then. A handcuff displayed on his wrists, and a trial of chain connected to it. Soldiers tied that chain onto a pillar standing in the middle of the stage, hanging Ratchet’s body. Silence spread across the square. Dusky shades of the setting sun delineated and filled that broken frame with colors. Drift then noticed, Ratchet’s frame now covered with dull, dark pink -- the color of long dried energon.  
Soldiers used water-guns to wash away the coagulated energon, unfolding the patterns that carved deep into the doctor’s plates -- red, glowing red that was almost too bright to be seen on the protolly white frame. These patterns were not sprayed paint, they were stabbed into plates by stings during a long period of penalty.  
A numb, stingy feeling sprawled across Drift’s plate. He hugged himself tight, didn’t notice a drop of cleansing shed from his optics, which were opened wide, straight gazing at the medic.  
“Water on wounds -- lost your fragging mind y’all?!” Pharma rushed onto the stage, shouting, covering Ratchet’s wet frame with a piece of tarp. But the soldiers continued their job.  
“To punish the Chief Medical Officer, who has stolen a forged spark, is an act of justice. Remember -- no matter what class you are in, non shall be tolerated by the justice; no matter what shape you change into, non shall hide from the eyes of Senate --”  
Numerous engines began to roar and growl. Whilst Drift could hear nothing. His gaze never once left Ratchet, whose arms were pined on that pillar, frame hanged, helm dropping. Pharma’s shaking body blocked his sight from time to time, when that happened, a voice raised in Drift’s spark: step aside -- I, I want to see him.  
Mechs that participating in the demonstration took their act, spraying color of red and white on their original paint. This wasn’t in Senate’s anticipation.  
The official lost his composure. He waved off the soldier, didn’t know what to expect next.  
Though water guns shut, Pharma still clenched tight on Ratchet’s body. Clearly the flow of high-press water wasn’t treating his wings gentle.  
“My, my, our CMO, Ratchet, spending his whole life for Cybertron and her science of medicine, for Primus and his children, but now he is hung here, stabbed and pierced by the law he respects and obeys!” he slightly straightened his back, shouting towards the sky, “if one is truly a criminal -- true justice fails to speak for him! While if one is not --”  
Before Pharma could finish, the official released a whip, lashed right on vents located on his back. The medic hissed in pain, tried to curl up.  
While hearing a very near sound crying for help, Ratchet’s optics lightened.  
He trembled, a word was spilled: “Stop.”  
The official stop lashing, though he wasn’t sure if he himself the object of this verb.  
“Already brought me another mess,” Ratchet’s fists tightened, lifting his frame, “Got your internship finished, youngling?”  
That was much harsher than a stroke of whip. Pharma shivered, his arm lost all the strength.  
That piece of tarp falls, revealing the flame-colored tattoos -- in the glow of sunset, they failed to make up as a carved punishment, or a mark of humiliation. Wearing those, Ratchet become a something brighter, a sign, a beacon.  
“Turn around, you, all of you.” Ratchet darkened his optics, voiced soft to Pharma, “don’t forget your duty, as medics.”  
The official gestured to the securities, whom were holding high shields, now moved towards the demonstrators. The CMO glanced trough his retreating colleges, slowly nodded with respect and thankfulness.  
Through all those moving helms, Drift was sure that Ratchet’s sight made a stop, though brief, firmly on him -- countless thoughts streamed across his processor.  
He desperately hoped, the stolen spark could be him, and somehow a voice whispered, that Ratchet was holding just the same thought -- or what else could cause such a tearing pain deep down to his spark, when he was about to be dragged away from the great medic?  
He thus, held up his arm high, shouting out:  
“For Ratchet -- for Ratchet!”  
“For Ratchet --!”  
And those words echoed.  
He saw -- Ironhide and his crews rushed towards the stage, relieving Ratchet from that pillar -- the sun finally set between the buildings, and the shades faded.  
From that day on, medical units from Cybertron wear their core paints as red and white, they all volunteer to do so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 【Drift Origin】 is a fanfic that I want to work as Drift's biography, which includes a lot of headcanon and OCs, focuses mainly on the twists and tangles of Drift and Ratchet's fate and destiny.
> 
> The Sea of Red happens in the historical period of Nova Prime, where Ratchet has been assigned to the experiment of combining forged sparks into cold-constructed frames and successfully saved one of the sparks from the experiment.
> 
> The school that Drift enters is for training young mechs into soldiers for supporting Nova Primes' expansion.
> 
> This is only a test version of this chapter. According to my most updated story outline, Ratchet hasn't become the CMO yet under Nova's rule.


	2. 【漂移本纪】赤潮

漂移跟着探照灯坐下。学生酒吧内氛围和谐，炽灯暖烘烘地照着。  
“如何？”  
探照灯的手肘抵在桌台上，细瘦腰杆向后折去。  
“你指什么？”漂移环顾四周——他们面前是落地玻璃，背后的零散圆桌还没什么酒客。  
“想到什么说什么。”  
“好吧——我很惊讶。”  
“惊讶什么？我们有酒吧？”  
“我不知道，我觉得自己是在指别的什么东西”漂移坦白，“可能是今天学到的所有东西。任何东西。我甚至还有了名字。漂移——多好。”  
服务员端来了他们点的低纯饮料，探照灯撑起身体去接，随后转过身，将加了铜屑的那杯推到漂移面前。可酒杯底碰在了桌子的缝隙上，倾斜出去，漂移急忙伸手去扶。  
“普神啊。”摩托车盯着窗外，光镜圆睁。漂移随他的视线望去，广场上群众云集。虽然年轻金刚早就注意到这点，但与已经在这颗星球上活了十多年的探照灯不同，他对“异常”还没有概念。  
“这是……？”  
他挑起一侧眉甲，看向自己的朋友。  
“搞事了搞事了。”探照灯用手肘戳戳漂移腰侧的气栅，另一边拿起自己的低纯一饮而尽，“走走，赶紧把你的东西喝完。”  
“什么叫，搞事了？”  
探照灯一巴掌拍在漂移的后脑勺上。  
“你怕不是个傻的。”摩托车哼道，但意识到对方的社会经验还没那么广泛，又揉揉刚刚被他拍击的位置，“这个广场上的那个台子——是行刑用的。你的词库里有‘行刑’这个词吧？”  
“当然有。”漂移小声嘀咕。  
“快点。待会儿人多了。”  
“会危险么？”探照灯一兴奋准没好事。  
“我觉得不会……你看！那边那边那边”——探照灯指着一位有机翼的金刚，漂移对那身蓝色的涂漆有点印象，“那是药师，还有急救员！柳叶刀也在！订书针*！夹钳*！怎么回事？医生大集会？快点快点！走了！”  
其他的几位医生分别涂着红色、青色、橙黄色和铁灰色的涂装。他们表情严肃，肃立在行刑台前。一位政府官员高站在台上宣读着什么，金色额徽的尖角将夕阳的光芒聚成一个闪耀的光点。被探照灯点名出来的医生们还在和碌碌前来的金刚们互相点头致意。  
待他们终于走上广场，前面已经站了近十排人。但他们并非严严实实地挤在一起，机体之间留有一段能够活动手臂的距离。探照灯本来想带着漂移往前钻，却被一个陌生金刚拦住：  
“你们是医学生么？”  
“额——”  
“是，我们是。”探照灯抢答到。  
“导师呢？”  
“没。我们走散了。”  
漂移用狐疑地眼光盯着自己的朋友。  
“行吧。”陌生金刚将双手搭在腰间，“自愿来参加的？”  
“我们不确定到底发生了什么。跟着人流过来的。”探照灯说。  
“对救护车的公开处刑。”陌生金刚叹气道，“如果你们没听说过这件事，还请回去吧。我们不知道今天的示威最后会发展成什么。”  
“公开处刑救护车？天呐！”探照灯低声叫道，“我们当然听说过他——对吧，漂移？救护车，那个伟大的医生。”  
漂移对着探照灯瞪大的、充满暗示的光镜缓慢点了下头。  
“救护车。当然。”漂移接过话，“他犯了什么错？”  
“违抗元老院的意愿——说是偷窃。荒唐。”陌生金刚咬牙切齿，“救护车绝不会偷窃。他们一定是在栽赃。”  
“那元老院准备——”  
“具五刑。”陌生金刚的引擎低吼着——周围几个金刚听到这个词也纷纷攥紧拳头，他们看过来，眉头紧皱，视线很快又移向空旷的行刑台——两个年轻金刚则同时倒吸一口凉气。  
“可他是医生……”探照灯哑声说。  
“——所以减刑成漆刑*。”另一个声音插入对话，漂移觉得背后一阵发凉，回头便发现是药师。  
“处刑要开始了。”蓝色的医生说，手里拿着四罐喷漆，“你们愿意改变自己的涂漆颜色吗？”  
漂移望向探照灯，后者则看回来。药师也不催促他们，视线飘忽在人群上方。  
“我无所谓——”最终，漂移开口，没头脑地接了一句，“要让救护车骄傲，对吧？”  
他接过罐子，发现分别是红白两种颜色。  
“说得好，学生，要让救护车骄傲。”药师走到那位陌生金刚面前，“我代表全体医疗单位感谢安保队，铁拳。”  
“包在我身上，小兄弟。”被称为铁拳的金刚拍拍药师的肩膀，“去忙你的吧。”  
蓝色的金刚点点头，身前的人为他让路。  
“所以您也是医生？”探照灯再次打量了铁拳一遍。这位金刚涂着铁锈红，看上去有些五大三粗，不像医生，但更不可能是护士。  
“呵呵。我不是。我欠救护车一个人情。是时候还了。”他叉腰站着，头雕高高扬起，“他是个好医生。不能让元老院继续糟蹋他了。”  
漂移看看手里的喷漆罐，给了探照灯两个。  
正在他们琢磨怎么用这个喷口的时候，刑台的方向传来一阵骚乱。喝倒彩的声音从前方传来，随后三台金刚的身影登上平台，左右两侧的卫兵带着深色的护目镜。他们中间的金刚被半拖拽着，步伐不稳，光镜也忽明忽暗。  
“救护车！”铁拳低吼道。  
群众喧哗起来。  
行刑官开始宣读判决书。漂移听不清他在读什么，高仰着头雕。从医生出现在他的视野里起，漂移的磁场就泛出一股温暖的苦涩。他将手指轻轻搭在火种舱上方。  
卫兵松手的瞬间，救护车跪倒在地，机体几乎没有任何动静。医生的双手拷在一起，连着一条铁链。卫兵把铁链挂在平台中央的铁柱上，救护车的身体被拉起来。广场沉静下来，夕阳投下的余晖终于为救护车的剪影涂上可辨的色彩。漂移这才看到，救护车身上淋满了能量液——整具机体被染成深粉色。  
随后卫兵拿来水枪，冲去医生身上凝结的能量液，露出被刻印在机体上、象征惩罚的涂漆——红色，机体本身的素白更是将其衬得刺眼。那颜色并非表层漆，而是用一针针刺进金属里去的。  
漂移觉得自己的护甲上传来一阵阵酥麻的刺痛。他抱紧自己的身体，一滴润洗液流出，他却丝毫没意识到，只是圆睁光镜，仿佛要用视线裹住台上的医生。  
“往伤口上洒水——你们疯了吗？！”药师咆哮着冲上平台，用一块防水布罩住救护车湿漉漉的机体。但那些卫兵不管这些，高压水枪连带药师和他的防水布一起招呼。  
“此次判决诉求公正平等，因此严惩首席医疗官救护车偷窃神铸火种的行为。记住——不论阶级如何，都无以逃脱法律的制裁；不论形态如何，都无法逃脱元老院的法眼——”  
愤怒的引擎轰鸣山呼海啸。但漂移的世界却平静异常。他直直盯着耻辱柱旁的救护车、被双手牵引着抬起的上身、低垂的头雕。药师时不时会闪身遮住救护车的面甲，漂移便在芯里默念：让开，让开——让我再看看他。  
与此同时，前来抗议的金刚们行动起来，将红色与白色的涂漆喷在身上。元老院虽然对此次行动有所预料，但医疗单位们和平示威的方式显然出乎意料。  
行刑官乱了阵脚，摸不清群众下一步的动向，他挥手让卫兵停下。  
水流已经停下，药师却依然紧搂着救护车的身体。刚刚的激烈冲击显然让他这位飞行单位的机翼吃苦不少。  
“看看，看看！救护车将他的一生献给塞伯坦的医学、普神子民的健康，却被吊在这里，被他所尊敬和遵循的法律刺得遍体鳞伤！”他稍微直起上身，冲天空吼叫，“倘若他真实有罪——你们所谓的平等，口口声声的一视同仁，却无法降下最公正的惩罚！而他无罪——”  
不等药师说完，行刑官突然甩出一条能量鞭，抽在喷气机背后的进气栅上。药师嘶吼一声，蜷缩起来。  
救护车的光镜闪了闪，对近在咫尺的求救声有了反应。  
他颤抖着吐出一句：“停下。”  
不知道是对谁说的。但行刑官停手了。  
“实习期没出的小鬼。”救护车的双手攒紧，将自己向上提了提，“添乱。”  
这句话显然比实实在在的鞭刑更疼。药师打了个激灵，手臂上力道尽失。  
防水布滑落，那些赤红色烙印熔融到晚霞里——这些伤口不屈辱，更起不到震慑的效果。救护车那样子分明是要与燃烧在天边的恒星媲美。  
“回去吧。”救护车合拢光镜，对身旁的药师轻语，“别忘记医生的职责。”  
行刑官挥了挥手，场地周边举着防爆盾的治安人员开始向前移动，驱赶群众。首席医疗官看向缓慢撤退的同僚，缓缓点头致意。  
人头攒动中，漂移清晰地感觉到救护车飘忽的视线在自己身上凝聚了一瞬——几秒内，无数想法划过他的处理器。  
他突然希望那颗被救护车“偷窃”的火种是自己，而且不知怎的，他觉得救护车也是这么想——不然，为什么当探照灯将他拉走时漂移的火种深处传来了撕裂般的痛苦？  
他高高伸出另一只手臂，向空中大喊道：  
“为了救护车——为了救护车！”  
“为了救护车——！”  
无数声音回应道。  
漂移看见——由铁拳带领的保安队从人群中凸现出来，冲上了平台，将伤痕累累的首席医疗官解救下来——恒星的光芒淹没在高楼之间。  
自那天以后，塞伯坦的所有医疗单位主动将身上的核心配色调换为红与白。

注释：  
订书针：龙套oc，医疗单位  
夹钳：龙套oc，医疗单位  
漆刑：灵感源于墨刑


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